


Remember My Angel

by Blotusflower



Series: Monster in Paris: My Angel one-shot series [4]
Category: Un monstre à Paris | A Monster in Paris (2011)
Genre: Acts of Kindness, Adult Children, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Developing Friendships, F/M, Family Feels, Grief/Mourning, Love Confessions, Older Characters, One True Pairing, Sad with a Happy Ending, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:07:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28185150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blotusflower/pseuds/Blotusflower
Summary: The official last installment of the My Angel series.
Relationships: Francoeur/Lucille (A Monster In Paris), Lucille/Raoul (A Monster In Paris), Sylvie/Oc
Series: Monster in Paris: My Angel one-shot series [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2064720
Kudos: 2





	Remember My Angel

Everyone was crowded inside Lucille’s townhome. 

Many sharing small smiles and fond memories, while others offered any help they could during this time of uncertainty. 

Lucille was donned in a long black silk dress with a hat. 

A thin veil covering her red tear-stained face.

The woman forced a grin as she welcomed the procession into her home. 

The years were very kind to Lucille, she retained s semblance of her youth despite her gray curls and slight wrinkles around her hazel eyes.  
Despite the good wishes and compliments, the woman felt the unbearable pain of loss. 

Her beloved husband, the love of her life, and her performing partner, Francoeur was gone.  
The woman wiped her wet cheeks not wanting to recall the event.

Having been retired from performing at the Rare Bird, Lucille and Francoeur spent their days devoted to each other. They woke up together, ate together and on occasion wrote music and danced together.  
Days and nights were filled with love and happiness. 

It was more than Lucille could have asked for. 

It was one of these mornings where Lucille had a skip in her step and breakfast ready on the table.  
She went to wake Francoeur, but the flea did not stir from his slumber. 

Lucille rolled her eyes thinking her husband was up all night again writing music.  
She moved to shake his shoulder but paused when the woman saw a letter right next to her desk lamp. 

To my Dearest Lucille, 

By the time you read this, I will be gone.

I knew my moments here were fleeting, but despite this, it was you and our children that made these moments worth living.  
I began life lonely without a friend in the world until you came into my life. 

You captured my heart with your voice and helped me find my own. 

Without you, I would have never known the joy that comes with being a husband and a father to the most wonderful and talented children.  
I was not perfect mi amour, no one is. I was an experiment that was never supposed to be brought into your world, but you took me into your arms and gave me a place to call home. 

You, Sylvie, and Francis are my home. 

I love you all and never forget that although you can no longer see me.

I will always be with you.

Yours forever, 

Francoeur

After reading the letter, Lucille sobbed. 

Her body desperately clenching the flea’s physique, hoping everything she read was not true and that Francoeur was going to wake at any moment.  
Her cries went to desperate pleas to wails when she felt that his body was as cold as a stone statute. 

There was nothing for her to do.  
Lucille dried her tears, leaning close to kiss her husband.  
A kiss, she knew would not be returned. 

The widow held her shoulders, cursing her mind for replaying the memory. She stood from her chair knowing there were more pressing matters to deal with.  
Lucille walked to the stairs leading to her rooftop, as she tottered the woman heard the soft sound of Francoeur’s guitar. 

The music echoed inside her ears, reminding her of the first time she performed at the Rare Bird with her husband. Lucille silenced oncoming tears as she approached the musician.  
She sat on the edge of the roof, long red curls cascading down her back. Four arms gently strumming the strings of the guitar as forlorn ruby eyes gazed up at the clouds. 

“My Sylvie.” 

The young woman turned at the sound of her mother’s voice.  
She paused in her strumming setting the guitar down, the girl wiped her eyes. The blue freckles highlighting the red in her cheeks. 

Lucille let out a soft sigh, taking a seat next to Sylvie.  
The older woman wrapped an arm around the younger, pulling the girl to her chest. 

Sylvie was always her father’s daughter.  
Somewhat shy but had a flair for instruments.

The guitar was her favorite.  
The one in her possession was the same guitar Francoeur had played on the night he met Lucille. 

“I miss pere.” Sylvie whimpered failing to hide her tears. 

“I know mon petit,” Lucille muttered holding her daughter close and looking around. “Where is your brother?” she asked not seeing her son. 

“Francis needed some fresh air,” Sylvie said fingers gliding on the strings of her guitar. 

Lucille looked around again, to her relief in the distance she saw Francis jumping from rooftop to rooftop with grace and precision. 

“Just like his father,” Lucille whispered as she waved Francis over. 

The young man twisted his long legs and jumped high in the air until he landed safely on the roof of the house. 

Mirroring his sister, Francis took a seat on the edge of the roof close to his mother. 

Lucille gently glided her hands through her son’s thick navy locks. Francis was tall, but not overly like Francoeur (his height matching Raoul’s stature.)

The boy had Lucille’s soft hazel eyes and four arms like Sylvie.

This gave the siblings their father’s ability to rooftop jump.  
Since Sylvie was the instrumentalist, Francis like his parents was a gifted singer.

After his parents retired, Francis became the sole entertainment in his great aunt’s restaurant. Sometimes, Sylvie would join him on stage, but the girl enjoyed being behind the scenes supporting her brother in his endeavors.  
Writing the music and serving as a waitress was enough for her. 

“If your pere was here, he would be so proud. Never forget petits, how much he loved you both.” Lucille muttered comforting her children who could not hold back their sorrow. 

“Mere. How are you holding up?” Francis asked more worried for his mother than anyone else. 

“Yes mere, are you well?” Sylvie added as both siblings carefully watched Lucille. 

If the woman were not filled with sorrow, she would have laughed. 

“I will be fine mi bebes. I just miss your pere so much.” Lucille voiced her tone wearily.

The woman gently embraced her children and softly hummed for a few minutes before urging Francis and Sylvie inside. 

From the roof, they departed to the living room greeting their guests.  
Lucille watched as her daughter and son put on their façade. 

Small meaningless smiles spread on their faces to hide their sorrowful dispositions. She recognized their methods were inherited from her. 

Lucille used it many times on stage, with her Aunt Carlotta, and with the former Commissioner. 

The woman heavily disliked the former Commissioner, her disdain grew with his failed attempts to kill her, Francoeur, and her friends.  
If it weren’t for Raoul, Lucille would have fallen off the Eiffel Tower and drowned in the murky waters. 

Speaking of which, the man in question was present.  
Raoul was still tall and thin, wearing a simple black suit. His black hair painted with small streaks of white. The appearance making the old man look like Frankenstein’s monster.  
The woman chuckled, the sound catching the man’s attention as he strolled next to Lucille. 

“For shame Lucille. Laughing at your own husband’s repass.” Raoul commented leaning against the wall opposite the couch. 

“It is not a crime to laugh especially now,” Lucille muttered dusting the front of her dress. “Besides if Francoeur were here, he would not want me to spend my days mourning over his loss.” she finished getting lost in her memories. 

Raoul gave a heavy sigh, his stare going to the family photos.  
Eyes catching a photo of Francoeur holding a lively ten-year-old Sylvie on his shoulder, while his bottom appendages held a sleeping six-year-old Francis. 

“Yeah, I am gonna miss the big guy. If it weren’t for him my business would have never took off.” Raoul boasted receiving a glare from Lucille. 

He gulped, as the man’s mind scrambled to find another conversation topic before Lucille through him out. 

“Easy. If there is one thing, I can say that Francoeur was a better father than I anticipated. Remember when Francis was born? I almost dropped the kid when he moved his head!” Raoul stated.  
“Yes. Maud had to take Francis after that. I also recall the time you babysat Sylvie.” Lucille replied. 

“Hey whatever happened was not my fault,” Raoul replied tossing the subject aside.

“My daughter ended up on the roof of the Rare Bird. Of course, that was your fault.” Lucille uttered as the pair enjoyed each other’s company once again. 

The laughter eventually died down when the pair noticed that everyone was congregating in the kitchen, leaving a select few in the room. 

Raoul took the opportunity to take a seat next to Lucille. 

Despite the merriment, Raoul was trying his best to alleviate the woman’s sadness. Francoeur was a one-of-a-kind friend and Raoul would not admit it, but if he had to lose Lucille’s love to anyone. The man was content knowing her heart belonged to the flea. 

The man still loved Lucille with every fiber of his being, but it would not be right to share those feelings especially at her husband’s repass.

Lucille would conclude that Raoul was waiting for Francoeur’s demise in hopes of becoming her second husband.  
He did not want that. 

Raoul was at peace with their friendship and cherished his status as Sylvie and Francis’s honorary uncle. 

As a widow, Raoul wondered what Lucille would do now.

Sylvie and Francis were adults with bright futures. When they moved out, it was only their parents occupying what use to be Corletta’s home.  
Maybe she could travel, take up painting, or come out of retirement to sing again at the Rare Bird. 

He doubted the last idea. 

Lucille was still a strong singer, but if she overdid it, the stress could physically weaken her vocal cords. 

“Uncle Raoul. Emile brought some pastries. Do you want any?” 

Raoul looked from Lucille to Francis. 

The young man’s hazel gaze bore into Raoul’s brown ones. His stare making the older feel sweat pour down his forehead.  
The color of Francis’s eyes were Lucille’s, but the intense stare was something he learned from his father.

It was a warning. 

Out of all the offspring produced by the flea, Francis knew from old journal entries written by his father about a past relationship between his mother and Raoul.  
Francis found the love triangle trivial but was absorbed in how detailed the narrative was based on emotional content. 

Near the entries’ conclusion, Francoeur won his mother’s hand in marriage, but that did not mean Raoul still did not harbor affections for Lucille.  
Thanks to his half-human heritage, the young man was sensitive to not only the smell of blood but also emotions. 

“ N-no Francis. Um, t-thank you.” Raoul stuttered not noticing Lucille place her hand on his shoulder. 

“Francis Francoeur. There was no need for that.” The woman scolded adding her own glare to the mix.

Immediately, the half-flea cowered in defeat and retreated to the kitchen. 

He was no match for his mother’s display of dominance. 

“I apologize. He needs to stop reading his father’s journal entries. Every time Francis does, he thinks I will eventually end up marrying another.” She said. 

“Will you?” Raoul asked curiosity getting the best of him. 

“No one can replace what Francoeur and I had. It was a gift, and I am happy to have experienced it for as long as he was here.” The woman muttered hiding her pain through sugar-coated words. “I just wish he was still here.” 

Raoul took Lucille’s hands in his own, he resisted the urge to recoil from the abnormal heat radiating off her hands. He looked into Lucille’s eyes filled with exhaustion. 

“As do I and the people of Paris.” 

Lucille stared at Raoul skeptical. 

Like her, Francoeur and her were just performers. 

The only thing the couple did that benefited the community was plant the sunflowers in the most flooded areas of the city. 

She felt Raoul urging her to stand from her position as he guided the woman to the front door of her home. 

He opened it slowly as a crowd stood silently below the steps of the house. The people held brightly lit candles as they acknowledged Raoul and Lucille’s presence. 

Some of them walked forward placing flowers and cards near the steps. 

Others waved and smiled at the widow. 

As Lucille stared in awestruck at the crowd, Sylvie and Francis joined their mother outside. 

Sylvie while observing the crowd rushed down the steps toward a young man standing near the front. 

The man was tall, handsome with a soft brown complexion and thick black curls framing his cheekbones. 

He opened his arms as Sylvie jumped into them. 

“That’s Vien. He and his family just moved here six weeks ago from Africa. Thanks to Sylvie, he now works at the Rare Bird as our Lighting Specialist.” Francis whispered to his mother before going down to the crowd. 

Lucille waved at the young man as she watched her daughter hold him tightly against her. Vien waved back a small blush on his skin at Sylvie’s expression of affection. 

Francis took control of the greetings, thanking the crowd for honoring the memory of his father. A few young women came close presenting their gifts to the man. 

Lucille assumed the women were long-time fans of Francis, she recognized some of them who never missed the days her son performed. 

“Many of the people you see were down on their luck and Francoeur was able to give them assistance,” Raoul said as a family of four stepped in front of Lucille. 

The family consisted of a man, a woman, and two little boys around the age of five. The man wore a top hat at the sight of the widow, he removed it. His wife grabbed her sons holding them in front of her dress.

“Madame Lucille. My name is Cain, this is my wife, Fora. And our sons, Eno and Gape. Your husband was a saint. I was shopping at the butcher’s with Eno when the second I looked away, the boy was gone. Francoeur happened to be there and saw where he had run off. It only took a minute for Eno to be back in my arms. I don’t know what I would have done if it wasn’t for him.” 

After Cain spoke, an older woman stood out of the crowd and stood a few meters from the family. 

“I am Deana. Francoeur saved me and my grandchildren from a robbery inside our home. He was able to subdue the ruffian and get us out of the house safely as we waited for the authorities.”  
As soon as Deana stopped her story, more and more people from the crowd told their stories. Lucille held Raoul’s hand, tears staining her face.  
Francoeur was a hero and she did not even realize it. 

Looking back, it made sense now why Francoeur was often late for rehearsals and why sometimes on the weekends he seems to leave and come back when the children were asleep. 

“Thank you. Thank you all for coming to pay respects to my husband. You are welcomed in our home anytime! If Francoeur were still alive he would want, you all to do good to others as he has done for you.” Lucille said as the crowd clapped at her speech.

The people stayed for at least an hour socializing with Francoeur’s family and friends. All of them, sharing cherished memories of the kind-hearted flea. 

Lucille sat on the steps of her house watching the proceedings. 

Her eyes lingering on her children and her friends. She allows herself to relish in the peace, ignoring the sharp pain stinging her chest.  
Her temperature was rising once again, and she felt weak.

Lucille didn’t let that ruin the time her family was spending being surrounded by love and support.

By the time the crowd dispersed, everything was cleaned. Her female friends had taken most of the flowers except for one small vase of roses that Sylvie insisted she must-have for her apartment.  
Lucille was escorted to her room by Raoul and her children. 

Francis got her some water from the kitchen and Sylvie sat on the edge of the bed next to her mother.  
Raoul leaned next to the door outside in the hall, giving the family a little privacy.

He vaguely heard the conversation Lucille was having with her children, but when the man peeked around the corner Francis and Sylvie were embracing their mother tightly, each giving her a kiss before leaving the room.  
Raoul walked inside to Lucille. 

“Are they ok?” he asked kneeling in front of the woman’s bed. 

“They will be. Raoul, I need you to promise me something.” The woman muttered. 

“Anything Lucille,” Raoul said taking her hand in his own. 

“Watch over Francis and Sylvie. Make sure they stay on the right path and out of trouble.” Lucille stated. 

Raoul squeezed her hand, kissing it lightly before nodding his head. 

Hesitantly, Raoul stood walking to the door. He turned as Lucille closed her eyes, breath leaving her body. 

The man clutched the doorframe, falling to his knees.

“Goodbye Lucille, I love you.” He whispered remaining on the ground in her room mourning the loss of the woman he loved.  
Unseen Lucille’s spirit watched from the window at his confession. She placed her hands over her heart as a smile graced her face.  
“I always knew you, dummy,” Lucille muttered quietly as a soft breeze swirled around her, and at that moment, she wasn’t alone. 

“Lucille.”

The spirit turned to the familiar voice, her hand meeting all four of his appendages. 

“My Francoeur.” 

The flea held her close as they stared into each other’s eyes. 

“Let’s go home.”

With a soft caress of the wind, the pair disappeared into the sky. 

Their love that endured in life now followed them into a new beginning.


End file.
